"Then she mustn't," says Mr. Robert. "It would mean letting that crowd get a foothold in Corrugated, and a loss of thousands to her. See if the tape shows any recent fluctuations." "Bluey-ooey!" says I, runnin' over the mornin' sales hasty. "Opened at seven-eighths, then 500 at three-quarters, another block at a half, 300 at a quarter--why, it's on the toboggan!" "She must be found and warned at once," says Mr. Robert. "Am I the guy?" says I. "You are," says he. "And minutes may count. I'll get the address for you. It's in that----" "Say," I throws over my shoulder on my way to the door, "whose aunt is this, anyway?" Looked like a simple matter for me to locate Aunty. And if she was out takin' her drive or anything--why, I could be explainin' to Vee while I waited. That would be tough luck, of course; but I could stand it for once. At their apartment hotel I finds nobody home but Celeste, the maid, all dolled up like Thursday afternoon. She hands it to me cold and haughty that Madame and Ma'mselle are out. "I could almost guess that from the lid you're wearin'," says I. "One of Miss Vee's, ain't it?" She pinks up and goes gaspy at that. "Please," she begins pleadin', "if you would not mention----" "I might forget to," I breaks in, "if you'll tell me where I can find 'em quickest." And Celeste gets the information out rapid. They're house-partyin' at the Morley Beckhams, over at Quehassett, Long Island. "Rosemere" is the name of the joint. "Me for Quehassett!" says I, dashin' for the elevator. But, say, I needn't have lost my breath. Parts of Long Island you can get to every half-hour or so; but Quehassett ain't one of 'em. Huntin' it up on the railroad map, I discovers that it's 'way out to the deuce and gone on the north shore, and the earliest start I can get is the four o'clock local. Ever cruise around much on them Long Island branch lines? Say, it must be int'restin' sport, providin' you don't care whether you get there this week or next. I missed one connection by waitin' for the brakeman to call out the change. And when I'd caught another train back to the right junction I got the pleasin' bulletin that the next for Quehassett is the theater train, that comes along somewhere about midnight. So there I was hung up in a rummy little commuter town where the chief industry is sellin' bungalow sites on the salt marsh. Then I tackles the 'phone, which results in three snappy conversations with a grouchy butler at sixty cents a throw, but no real dope on the Beckhams or their guests. Well, it's near two A.M. when I fin'lly lands in Quehassett, which is no proper time to call on anybody's aunt. Everything is shut tight too; so I spreads out an evenin' edition on a baggage truck and turns in weary. I'd overlooked pullin' down the front shades to the station, though, and the next thing I knew the sun was hittin' me square in the face.